


It's the Little Things

by days4daisy



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Amnesia Themes, Casual Sex, Guns, M/M, Season/Series 02, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8166220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Ryo still remembers Nyx. Beautiful, worthy Nyx. He remembers others too. Less worthy. But pleasing. 
An unexpected twist.
--Takes place before/during 2x12 - "Sometimes in Life You Don't Get to Choose"





	

It comes later. After the initial downpour of scenes and smells. Zairon in his youth. Shared katana lessons with Hiro. Chasing Misaki down dark, deserted hallways. Those who protected him. Those who turned their backs. 

Ryo closes his eyes and lets the rain flood his senses. Memories, like a recording on fast-forward. Instantaneous knowledge. Questions, answered. Answers, questioned. The fragments of his mind coalesce. Four, dead. Ryo, alive.

Vital knowledge come first. Who he was, and who he must become again. His father's murder, his step-mother's betrayal. Reality stitches together. His world is reborn.

The trivial follows later. Long after Ryo takes leave of the Android and returns to his quarters. He lies on his mattress, feet on the floor. Knees bent and spread, hands linked behind his head.

Ryo still remembers Nyx. Beautiful, worthy Nyx. He remembers others too. Less worthy. But pleasing. 

An unexpected twist.

***

M-370 Station, neutral outpost. Far reaches, understaffed. Low on the GA priority list. Scum and sin-infested, but too distant to pose a threat to the Authority or the Corporations.

It's a rowdy crowd. Raucous shouts and glasses shattered in the low-lit refreshment hall. Fists hit flesh, and a body is propelled across a pool table.

Ryo does not allow himself to become intoxicated. But his position is comfortable enough to welcome an evening of revelry. Portia and Corso are seeing to supplies; Ryo and Marcus see to R&R.

The relic of a light bulb pulses over them. Marcus' head tips back, glass to his lips. Their leather-clad elbows swish in greeting.

"I never took you for the type," Ryo observes. Marcus' eyebrow quirks, but his drink lingers at his mouth until empty. 

He places it on the counter, a dull 'thunk' of glass hitting metal. "What type's that?"

"Portia's."

"Yeah, well," Marcus grins, a corner of teeth. "If you feel left out, why don't you give Boss Lady a shout? 'Please, sir.' Likes that sort of thing."

"I'm not interested in Portia."

Marcus does not share Ryo's strategy with liquor. His face is warm, and he laughs abruptly when he gets Ryo's meaning. "Royal wedding pool's thin, huh?"

"Is that a no?" The smile drops from Marcus' face. 

Ryo expects a walk-out, or a fight. Subdued responses are not the specialty of Marcus Boone. 

After a moment, Marcus sniffs and motions down the bar with his empty glass. "You've got the next round," he decides.

Ryo catches the bartender's eye. He raises two fingers and nods.

***

"I'm not drunk enough for this," Marcus announces. But his jacket is already off, thrown on Ryo's desk. A flick of eyes down the front of Ryo's body. A thoughtful taste of his bottom lip. "You're not drunk enough either."

"An easy fix." Ryo opens his locker and returns with a full bottle of bourbon.

Marcus reacts like he's sprung gold. "Is that vintage? Asshole!" He jabs an accusing finger. "You've been holding out."

"Time and place." Ryo twists the top. Drinks from the open head. Dangles it enticingly.

Marcus doesn't need the offer. He snatches the bottle the second it's extended and takes a hearty swallow. His moan bubbles past the glass. "Man, that's good. The hell'd you pick this up from anyway?"

"I have my sources." Ryo takes the bottle back. Re-caps it. Places it on his desk, next to Boone's jacket. He takes in the black t-shirt over Marcus' chest. Black jeans and boots. Holster still clamped around his waist. Pistols hanging on either hip.

"You waiting on an invitation?" Marcus has a quirked brow and an amused twinkle in his eyes.

Ryo's mouth twitches in kind. "I'm waiting on a 'please.'"

"See? About that." Marcus waves his hand. "I don't know what you _think_ you know about the Boss Lady and me? But, ah - let's just say, she's earned it."

"Has she?"

"If anything," Marcus starts to grin, "the way I see it? You're the one who came to me. So if anyone should be asking sweet, it's-" Even Boone knows to stop talking when a sword blade taps his throat. Ryo has the weapon drawn before Marcus' quick fingers can get to his holsters. 

Marcus' hand twitches over the gun on his right hip. But Ryo knows it's for show. Even with Ryo's sword at his neck, Marcus wears a bemused smile. His fingers flex over his gun. Weighing options, like he's at a poker table. Money stakes. Pride. Not life and death. 

Marcus' ease reminds Ryo that he's been part of this crew for too long. Sucked in by the promise of strength in numbers and wealth. He will need both when the time comes to reclaim Zairon. But he has overstayed his welcome if these people no longer fear his blade.

There will come a time when everyone on this ship, and outside of it, will recognize the full extent of Ryo's power. For now, he's satisfied to quell other hungers. "In that case." Ryo turns his blade, point against the soft belly of Marcus' chin. It knicks the flat of his Adam's Apple. "Please," Ryo says. 

Marcus watches between low-lidded lashes. Bemusement has left his expression, leaving a far more dangerous calm. "You gonna stab or fuck me?" he asks.

Ryo breaks into a full smile, teeth flashed with appreciation. He lowers the blade. Quick. Clean.

"I liked that shirt," Marcus mutters. What's left of it slices down the middle and slips from his shoulders to the floor. Ryo shrugs. 

Marcus pushes a hand down his back, Ryo's body forced to his. They both hit the edge of Ryo's desk. Ryo on top, hands braced on the wall as his mouth begins to claim. Marcus snorts but shifts willingly under his weight. 

Ryo is satisfied with his decision.

***

Ryo catches his scent first. Something he never paid attention to as Four. A touch of spice that grows more poignant as Three crosses from one end of the mess to the other. 

Three's t-shirt is black and too big, a puddle of fabric over his waist holsters and cargoes. But it still fits enough to follow his back, broad shoulders cut down to the middle.

There are no more questions. Memories are not scattered whispers; they're real. Shouts of fingers snaked through holster straps. A good-natured "Fuck off" when Marcus was not game. A slanted smirk when he was.

It was so easy then. Cravings satiated by the salt of Marcus' sweat under Ryo's tongue. His body arched, lacking finesse but resilient. Ryo's temperament demands pushing. And, strange as it seems, Marcus likes being pushed. There was little more to it than that.

Or so Ryo thought. Now, he realizes his past-self made a grave error. Like the old story of Pavlov's dog, the tumultuous life of the Raza became tied to release. Frustration and anger amounted to little. There was always a cushion to fall on. Shared curses and clothes ripped behind closed doors.

Now, the frustration has returned. The wounded pride of a rightful king, outcast. The confusion over Nyx's sudden coldness. 

Frustration demands release. But this is not it anymore. This is Three, not Marcus Boone, sipping from a cup of water. If he still feels the effects of the bullet through his chest, he shows no signs.

Three sizes Ryo up with a curious glance. "Take a picture," he mumbles, "it'll last longer." Wary, Ryo looks on.

Three shrugs at his silence and gulps the rest of his water. "So, how's it feel?" He chucks his used cup down the waste chute.

"What?"

"Got the memories back. Life story written out nice and clear."

"It feels..." 'Good' hovers on Ryo's tongue, but it isn't true. His memories are not pleasant ones, and he has no doubt that he was at peace without them. But now, he knows exactly who he is. What he must do. "Necessary," Ryo decides.

"Huh." Three doesn't understand. Ryo can't blame him, aggravating as it is. No one on this ship can understand Ryo now. He's made a decision none of them has the strength to choose for themselves. Ryo's destiny demands sacrifice. This is who he must be, for the future of his people.

Three's arms cross over his chest. "So, any good stuff in there?"

"Pardon?"

"All those memories. Zairon, your people. What about us?" Three quirks a grin. "Bet you and I had a few doozies."

"Perhaps," Ryo replies. He gets up immediately and leaves.

From the doorway, he hears Three call after him. "You're a lousy story teller, know that?"

Anger flares through Ryo's clenched fists. And, with it, a pang in his gut. His tongue clicks against the back of his teeth. His eyes darken, and his pulse quickens.

"Get out," he used to mumble, lying on his back, sweat cooling on his skin.

Marcus helped himself to a pillow. "Fuck off," he slurred. "In a minute."

"Now," Ryo grit. 

A snore would always answer. And Ryo, despite better judgment, always let him stay.

*The End*


End file.
